


Another Ruth

by SigmaCreations



Category: Ruth Galloway Series - Elly Griffiths, Spooks | MI-5
Genre: F/M, Late Night Conversations, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-12 07:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17463218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaCreations/pseuds/SigmaCreations
Summary: My first cross-over fic, set in early season 9 for Spooks and after book 10 of the Ruth Galloway series. Just an idea I had to bring the two Ruths together. I don't own the characters, but I love them, so I'm borrowing them for a bit. Reviews are always appreciated. Cheers, S.C.





	1. Chapter 1

_Ruth Evershed_

 

“What's going on?” Lucas asks the moment he steps onto the Grid, responding to the Red Flash.

“Terror attack on central London,” Ruth briefs him on the move towards her station while looking for a file on her tablet. She appreciates not having to cart around a huge number of paper files any longer, since MI-5 went paperless, but sometimes it's bloody infuriatingly hard to find what she's looking for. “Three fatalities so far, two of them police, one a child. Many injured. Bomb was left in a white van right in front of the Science Museum. No one's claimed responsibility as yet.”

“Any witnesses? Reliable witnesses?”

“Tariq's working on CCTV and Dimitri's liaising with the police.”

“Thanks,” Lucas says and walks on, heading for Harry's office.

There is chaos on the Grid, controlled chaos, but still. She hates it when it's like this – too many people, too much activity, especially when someone invariably interrupts her every five seconds.

She sits herself down at her computer. She can't abide the bloody tablet, without a keyboard and mouse. She doesn't know how Tariq does it, but she finds it too bloody difficult to work quickly. She slips her headphones on to help her concentrate and she's soon lost in her work, until the inevitable next interruption.

It's maddeningly frustrating how little chatter there is about this event. Relevant chatter at any rate. It's even more maddening that they don't have a single lead on the culprits.

She's called into Harry's office to share what she has, but it's depressingly little at this stage and she has to bear the brunt of Harry's frustration. He hates it when they have nothing and, as the boss, has the luxury of showing his displeasure. She doesn't believe it works at all as a management style, but she suspects Harry's goal isn't to motivate anyway. He's just venting, which is entirely counter-productive, in her opinion, for all concerned. Not that she can do or say anything about it. Not the way things stand between them at the moment. _Bloody_ _infuriating_ _man._

It's Tariq who gets their first breakthrough.

“I've found her!” he says, rushing into Harry's office without knocking.

“Found whom?” This is Harry sounding strained.

“A witness. She saw the bomber. In fact, she tried to stop him. Her name's Ruth Galloway. Dr Ruth Galloway, from the University of North Norfolk.”

“A doctor? Good.”

“Actually she's an archaeologist, but she's worked as a consultant attached to the Serious Crimes Unit of the Norfolk Police. That's how I found her so quickly.”

“Good work, Tariq. Any idea where she is now?”

“St Mary's.”

“I'll have Dimitri pick her up,” says Lucas and turns, striding out of the room.

After that, everyone is dismissed and she makes her way back to her station, relieved to be away from the bear that is Harry Pearce when an attack is successfully carried out in London. He's not always like this, of course, but when London is targeted and they fail to stop an attack, he takes it personally and becomes irascible and impossible, and if it can be helped at all, far better avoided.

“Ruth?”

She looks up to find Harry nearing her station. “Yes?”

“I need you to interview Dr Galloway.”

“Harry, I'm in the middle of...” She tails off at the look on his face. Clearly now is not the time to argue. _When is it ever?_ She wonders sometimes if the reason they never made it as a couple is her need to exert her independence and deny him the one thing within her power to do so. “Why me?”

“I suspect she'll warm to you and we need her to cooperate. We need a face to work with.”

“Fine,” she sighs in defeat. In truth, she does trust Harry's judgement in this and she could honestly use a bit of a break from the computer; she's going cross-eyed over here.

“Good. When Dimitri brings her in, take her to one of the rooms on the third floor.” He pauses, then says, “In fact, I might join you,” but before she can question this decision he's walked away again.

Join her? Why join her? _Puzzling, infuriati_ _ng_ _man!_

It doesn't take long for Dimitri to ring up and tell her the Doctor is here. She almost asks him if he's brought his Tardis too, but quickly checks the impulse, saying, “Thank you,” instead and gathering her things to make her way down to the third floor.

“Dr Galloway,” Ruth smiles warmly in welcome, taking in the woman before her. She has intelligent blue eyes, shoulder length chestnut hair and a serious face. “I'm sorry to keep you waiting. We're quite busy here as you can imagine.”

“Mummy, I want to go home.” This is said by a little girl who looks to be about five.

“In a little while, Kate,” her mother replies, then turns to Ruth. “Will this take long, do you think? Only it's been a long day for her and I'd like to take her home.”

“Of course,” Ruth replies, “I'll get right to the point. Please have a seat.” She waits for Dr Galloway to settle herself and prop her daughter on her lap before sitting beside them.

“Hello,” she says to the little girl. “I'm Ruth. What's your name?”

“Kate,” she replies. “My mummy's name's Ruth.”

“I know,” Ruth smiles. “I guess that's kind of special, meeting someone who has the same name. Do you know anyone else called Kate?”

“No,” she shakes her head.

“Do you like to draw?”

“Yes.”

“Here,” she replies, passing Kate her notebook and pen. “How about you draw something with my special pen here while mummy and I talk for a bit?”

“Okay.” And just like that, Kate is satisfied. If only the rest of the world was as easy, particularly Harry bloody Pearce when they're in the middle of a crisis.

“Thank you,” Dr Galloway murmurs.

Ruth just smiles. “She's adorable. How old is she?”

“She's six.”

They both watch Kate for a few moments in silence before Ruth feels she has to press on.

“I understand that you were at the museum when...” she pauses, searching for the right word.

“Yes,” she nods. “It was horrible.”

“I can imagine.”

“Were many people... killed?” Ruth sees her glance uneasily down at her daughter, but the little girl seems oblivious of their conversation, concentrating hard on her picture.

“We have four confirmed fatalities so far,” Ruth confesses, feeling the need to gain this woman's trust, “but there were many injured too. We have CCTV from the area and it appears that you might be the only person who saw the driver's face. Do you have any recollection of that, Dr Galloway? Is there any chance you could work with an artist to create his likeness? It would be a tremendous help.”

“It happened so quickly,” she replies. “I'm not sure I'll be of much use. The police officer was calling after him, but he didn't seem to hear, so I touched his arm to get his attention, but the _look_ he gave me...” She shudders at the recollection. “I knew something was wrong, so I grabbed Kate and ran away from the van as fast as I could. We'd been walking towards it. If I hadn't stopped him, Kate...” She tails off, unable to complete the sentence.

Ruth gives her a moment to compose herself. She wants to touch her, offer her some comfort, but she suspects it wouldn't be welcome right now. “It doesn't have to be perfect. We just need something to work with. We have no CCTV images of his face, you see.”

“I'm happy to try,” she says.

“Excellent. Then I'll-” but she doesn't get to finish her sentence as the door opens to reveal Harry.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says gruffly.

“Harry,” Ruth replies, standing. “I was just about to take Dr Galloway upstairs. She has agreed to work with a forensic artist.”

“That's good,” Harry replies. “Your help is of great value to us, Dr Galloway.”

“I'm happy to do what I can,” she replies. “All those children at the hospital...” She shakes her head sadly. “The people who were killed... Where any of them children?”

Ruth glances at Harry before nodding. “I'm afraid two of them were. The other two were police officers.”

“I've finished my picture,” Kate declares suddenly.

“Have you?” Ruth smiles. “May I see it?”

“Yes. It's a cat.”

“A cat! I love cats!”

“I have a cat and a dog,” Kate says.

“I have a cat too. His name is Harold. He's very old. I don't have a dog though. Do they get on well, your cat and your dog?”

“My cat lives with us, but my dog lives with my daddy. His name is Bruno.” Ruth isn't sure if that's the dog's name or her dad's.

“And what's your cat's name?”

But before Kate can answer, there is a commotion outside the room. Harry frowns and opens the door to investigate.

“Let me go! You have my daughter and I demand to see her,” a man's furious voice carries into the room.


	2. Chapter 2

_Ruth Galloway_

 

“Nelson,” Ruth murmurs without thinking and turns to look at Kate. Her face has lit up with joy.

The man who was with them, meanwhile, Harry something, has stepped out of the room, pulling the door to behind him, but failing to close it completely. “Who the hell are you?” Ruth hears him demand in a low, threatening growl. He doesn't seem like the kind of man one wants to mess with, but Nelson's voice comes back self-assured and strong.

“DCI Nelson,” he replies. “Who are you? Where's my daughter?”

“Daddy!” Kate exclaims, moving towards the door only to be restrained by her taking her hand. She doesn't want to let her out of her sight after everything that's happened today.

Ruth.. something – Do these people always make it a habit of not introducing themselves? – glances round at her then moves determinedly towards the door, opening it a little way. “Harry,” she says. Ruth can't see Nelson, he's presumably beyond the door, but she watches with interest as the other Harry, Ruth's Harry – and isn't that in interesting coincidence? – turns to look at her, his eyes softening a little. She watches them communicate silently and sees Harry's demeanour change from intimidating and aggressive, to alert and protective. It is clear he's keeping a very close eye on Nelson and his Ruth. Are they involved, she wonders briefly, or have they just worked together so long that they can communicate wordlessly?

Then Ruth something-or-other says, “DCI Nelson?”

“Yes?” he replies warily.

“Your daughter is in here.” And she opens the door wider, an excited Kate letting go of her hand to rush forward and be picked up by her father.

“Daddy!”

“Hello, Katie.”

She watches them, feeling a joy settle over her heart at the picture they paint, before turning to look at her namesake. She's smiling, a surprisingly beautiful smile that transforms her face, but there is sorrow in her eyes too, hidden in their depths. What is this woman's story, she finds herself wondering. She's intrigued by her, and not just because they share the same name, but because she's been kind to Kate and shown herself to be compassionate and understanding.

She turns her eyes back on Nelson who is looking at her, his dark eyes unreadable as usual. She never quite knows what Nelson's thinking, except when they're making love, and for a moment, she envies Ruth and Harry – the other Ruth and Harry – their ability to communicate so effortlessly with just a look.

“Hello, Ruth,” Nelson says.

“Hello, Nelson,” she replies.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine. I'm helping them with their investigation.” He frowns and she smiles. “No need to feel jealous, Nelson.”

He shoots her an annoyed look. Perhaps she's hit the nail on the head, she can't help thinking. “Did they find some bones?”

“No,” she smiles again then her face turns serious, remembering the horror of this morning. “I saw the driver of the van. They think I might be able to help them identify him.”

“Jesus!”

“Forgive me,” other Ruth says, stepping forward, “but time is of the essence. Would you please come with me, Dr Galloway?”

She smiles. “Please call me Ruth.”

Ruth smiles in return.

“Do you want me to stay with Katie?” Nelson offers.

“Don't you have to get back?” She's surprised by this. When she'd called Nelson earlier, she hadn't expected him to jump in the car and come to them. She'd only thought to let him know that Kate's safe, sure as she was that the bombing would be all over the news.

“Yes, but I can spare an hour or two.”

She hesitates, loath to part from Kate so soon after everything. She knows she won't be able to relax without her close, even if she _is_ with Nelson, who she knows would protect her with his life if necessary.

“It would be more fun for Kate I'm sure,” other Ruth interjects gently. “These things always take longer then one thinks they will.”

“Alright,” she agrees, knowing that she's right. “I'll ring you when I'm done. If you need to get back to King's Lynn, bring her here.” She doesn't want Nelson to get it into his head that he should take her home with him. Not that that's a possibility for him really, given Laura's living at home again and Michelle's pregnancy. She quickly pushes that thought aside and turns to Kate. “Mummy's going to stay here for a little while, Kate. You go with Daddy and have fun. Alright?”

“Okay,” Kate agrees. “Daddy did you bring Bruno?”

“No,” he replies. “He had to stay home.”

“Oh. Can I have ice cream, Daddy?”

“Of course, Katie,” he smiles, face melting as he looks at his daughter. “Let's go.” Then he looks at her briefly, making her wish once more that she could read his thoughts, nods at Ruth whatsit and almost walks straight past other Harry without even acknowledging him.

“When you return, DCI Nelson,” Harry says, causing Nelson to pause and look at him. “Ask for Counter Terrorism. It'll save you a whole lot of trouble in finding us.” Ruth watches as they eye each other with barely disguised animosity, engaging in that uniquely male ritual of one-upmanship, until Nelson nods in acknowledgement – that he's heard? Or that he accepts this other man's authority within the confines of this building? She's not sure – and leaves the room with Kate in his arms.

“Would you like to come with me then, Ruth?” the other Ruth asks.

“Thanks,” she replies and follows her out of the room.

Harry nods at them as they pass, holding other Ruth's gaze for a few seconds before closing the door behind them. He doesn't follow, going off in an entirely different direction.

“DCI Nelson must be a very resourceful man to have found you here so quickly,” Ruth comments beside her.

“He is,” she agrees, thinking that he probably flashed his warrant card at every person he met until someone told him where they'd taken her and Kate. She imagines Cathbad would say that it's one of the good things about a Scorpio – that they're very loyal. She's not sure she agrees with that though. If Nelson wasn't so loyal, he wouldn't have stayed with Michelle so long.

“You're not together then?” other Ruth queries softly.

“No,” she confesses before she can stop herself. She isn't normally this open with people she's just met, but there's something about Ruth – a kindred spirit, Cathbad would probably call it. “He's married.”

“I'm sorry,” she replies, and as their gazes meet, there's real understanding in her stormy blue eyes.

“Is Ruth your real name?” she asks suddenly, the idea that this apparently lovely woman might not be who she seems causing her more than a little anxiety all of a sudden.

“As it happens, it is,” other Ruth smiles. “It's Ruth Evershed. I do sometimes use an alias,” she confesses, “but given your background of work with the police and the current circumstances, I didn't feel it was necessary.” She smiles. “Besides, you're the first person I've met who shares my name.”

That makes Ruth smile too. “Me too.” And suddenly she feels that they might have been good friends had they met under different circumstances.

“Here we are,” Ruth says and introduces her to a young man called Tariq who will help her reconstruct the image of the driver from her memory of the man she saw for less than ten seconds. She can certainly remember his eyes. She's going to have trouble forgetting those any time soon.


	3. Chapter 3

_Ruth Evershed_

 

“Harry?”

“Yes?” He looks up.

“Dr Galloway's given us all she can and Tariq's running it through facial recognition now.”

“Good,” he nods.

“I was wondering if I can let her go home,” she says. “DCI Nelson brought their daughter back half an hour ago and she's getting tired, cooped up on the Grid.”

Harry purses his lips thoughtfully. “I'd rather not. We don't know anything about these people and the resources they have behind them yet. She tried to stop him. We don't want a repeat of what happened with our witness when we were dealing with Shining Dawn.” Ruth nods in agreement. It's exactly what she's been thinking. “Put her in a safe house overnight. Hopefully, by morning things will be clearer. In fact, go with her. Get some rest, Ruth.”

“I thought I might take her home with me,” she suggests tentatively.

“Ruth-”

“Wait,” she interrupts. “Hear me out. A safehouse is no place for a little girl and, now that Beth's moved out, I have a spare room. And a cat. She'll like that. You can post a couple of agents to watch my place instead of the safe house and the security's top notch if you remember.” She knows she has him there. The moment she'd finally found a place to live, Harry had overridden any objections she'd had and installed a state of the art security system, insisting that she needs extra protection because of her connection to him.

He sighs, rubbing his forehead, a sure sign on mounting stress, and she has to suppress a fond smile as she watches him. Their relationship is so complicated and so confusing, their past words and actions forming a web of tangled memories and mixed emotions that she finds impossible to untangle, to understand, to deal with, but the love she feels for him in these unguarded moments is still overpoweringly strong, particularly when he seems a little vulnerable in some way. How can that be, she wonders, not for the first time and, almost certainly, not for the last.

A few weeks ago, she'd turned down his proposal, and to be entirely honest, she's still not sure exactly why she'd done that. She'd talked of the things he's done, but she's almost certain now that's not the real reason she'd said no. She's always loved him, has always known he's not clean, has done things, unspeakable things, but she's loved him anyway because she's understood why, has admired him for the sacrifices he's made, for his courage and tenacity, and for the gentleness of his heart in spite of it all. Even with what happened to George and Nico, she'd understood why he'd done it, had never blamed him – not really. She'd blamed herself, but not Harry.

“Okay, fine,” he sighs, lifting his eyes to hers. “But if there's any doubt-”

“I'll ring you,” she assures him quickly.

He nods and she smiles before turning to leave the room.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for your enthusiasm and encouragement, everyone. This fic has relatively short chapters, so expect frequent updates. I hope to have it finished up before the Book nNumber 11 comes out in early February. Cheers, S.C.

_Ruth Galloway_

 

She was right about Ruth Evershed, she realises. She really is a lovely person. She's managed to put both Kate and herself at ease, feeding them a delicious lasagne that she apparently made over the weekend and playing games with Kate, some of which Ruth suspects are brand new and bought today for this very purpose. She can't fathom why she's taken such an interest in the two of them, is making such an effort. _Is it because of Kate?_ She knows her daughter is a charming child and people seem to be inexplicably drawn to her. She enjoys things like acting, which Ruth herself would never dream of doing. Kate definitely takes after her grandmother in that respect.

Perhaps Ruth just loves children and doesn't have any of her own, or perhaps her children are all grown up and have left home. She seems to be about her age. Certainly old enough to have grown up children if she started rather young. She'll ask her when she goes back downstairs, she decides, once Kate has fallen asleep. She'd like to find out more about her.

“Do you have children, Ruth?” she asks once they've both agreed that sharing a bottle of wine sounds like a good plan as neither are ready to sleep yet.

“No,” she replies, looking away. Ruth doesn't think she'll say anything more, but she hears her add softly, “I had a stepson once, but he lives abroad now.”

“I'm sorry,” she replies, not knowing what else to say.

“It's okay,” Ruth Evershed says, turning to smile at her. “I miss him, but it's probably for the best.”

She frowns.

“It's not easy to raise a family, doing what we do,” she clarifies.

She nods. “Nelson gets a bit paranoid about Kate sometimes,” she offers. She gets a bit paranoid herself, especially after what's happened in the past to put herself and Kate in danger, but she's not about to admit that.

“We see things that most people never even dream of,” she agrees. “It's hard not to let it get to you. And then the hours we work...” She sighs. “Your daughter is lovely though and so smart.”

“Kate loves to show off,” Ruth confesses, feeling a little embarrassed.

“She's self-confident,” the other Ruth replies kindly. “That's a good thing, especially for a girl. It should be encouraged.”

She smiles. She decides that she _really_ likes Ruth Evershed.


	5. Chapter 5

_Ruth Evershed_

 

She's not quite sure how this came about, but she suddenly finds herself discussing Harry with a woman she only met a few hours ago. She's _never_ normally this open, but there's something about her – maybe her intelligence (quite like her own – not loud and demanding attention), maybe her enthusiasm for her work (her love of archaeology and digging up bones came shining through in the few words they've exchanged on the subject), or perhaps it is her solitude (she'd talked about living out in the middle of nowhere and the beauty of the salt-marsh), or the sense of loss that emanates from her person (her mother it turns out, though of course there's also DCI Nelson). They haven't talked about him yet, but she gets the feeling that Ruth Galloway is still very much in love with her Harry, almost as much as she, herself, is with her own.

“I sense there's a story there, but I don't want to pry,” Ruth Galloway says softly and takes another sip of her wine. They're on the second bottle despite the fact that she knows this is probably not the best of ideas given they still haven't found the culprits of the bombing and she'll need to be on the ball tomorrow morning.

She sighs. “It's certainly a very long one,” she confesses, then frowns. “Actually, it's probably not. I suspect, I could give you the bare bones of it in under a minute. We went on a date once. It was... the best bloody date I've ever had. He was so different. Gentle, kind, approachable, vulnerable even. Not at all like the man you met today. Not at all like a big boss at MI-5. And despite my desire to pursue it further, I didn't. I ended it because the others found out – I still don't know how – and the gossip was unbearable. That's it. That's the story. See. Under a minute.” She nods at the clock and takes a generous gulp of her wine.

“But you still love him,” other Ruth says kindly. “And he clearly loves you.”

“There is that, but... see, it's the emotional aspect that's complicated. I left a few years ago. Went to Europe, met someone else. He died – suddenly, tragically – and so I'm back. And I feel so... guilty – about his death, about Harry, about everything. I wish I'd never met either of them. I'm like Helen of sodding Troy.” She winces. “Sorry. I don't normally swear. It's the wine.”

“I approve of wine,” Ruth replies and they share a warm smile.

“What about you and DCI Nelson? Is it as tragic as my tale?” she asks.

“I don't know if tragic is the right word,” Ruth replies softly. “It was a case that brought him to my office – bones discovered on the salt-marsh, not far from my place actually. There was a missing child. It turned out to be an Iron Age skeleton in the end, but later, we did find her... in the same place. He came to warn me about the press and... he ended up staying over. It was... organic, how it happened. Something we both needed to deal with our grief. And then Kate came along, so...” She shrugs and takes another mouthful of wine. “I don't see him that often through work. Maybe a few times a year. If it hadn't been for Kate, maybe...” She sighs. “He's been married this entire time. And he won't leave her. I've never believed that he would and, to be honest, I'm not sure what I'd do if he did. There's very little we have in common outside work, you know? We'd probably drive each other bonkers living together.”

“But it would be nice to have the option,” she guess.

“Yes... Michelle, Nelson's wife, is pregnant again so...”

“Blimey!” Her heart goes out to her, and to herself, feeling nothing but compassion for them both – something that's a very nice change of pace from the guilt that is her constant companion. “Hopeless. That's what it is,” she adds and drains her wine, leaning forward to pick up the bottle and top up their glasses.

“I don't know,” other Ruth murmurs softly. “Thanks,” she adds, when she's filled her glass, and leans back into the cushions. “We're still alive. I think things become hopeless only once one of us is dead. I think Michelle was having an affair too. I'm kind of hoping that the baby turns out to be his. And that probably makes me a terrible person, but... there it is.”

“Why are they still together then?” she can't help asking.

“Search me. Guilt, I think. Nelson's catholic. He's also loyal. And they have two grown daughters. To be quite honest, I don't often understand what's going on in Nelson's head. Seems like he has a whole other kind of logic.”

“Most men do.”

“Some more than others,” she agrees with a smile. “You and Harry seem to understand each other.”

“Not always. Not outside the office. Not really,” she confesses with a sigh. “Everything seems to be straightforward to him. There's no nuance, no... hesitation. He'll risk everything on the throw of a die. Me though.. I need all the facts. And a deadline. It makes me good at my job and us a good team at work, but on the personal front, we're stuck.”

“You've had relationships before though,” other Ruth points out gently. “What's so different about this one?”

“Our history. The fact that we work together. What we _do_ at work. _Everything_. I can't even begin to unpick it all.”

They both fall silent after that, lost in thought as they sip their wine in companionable silence.

“Sometimes I wish there was logic to love. Like you could reason your way into or out of it,” Ruth Galloway says after a while. “It seems like such a waste of opportunity, you know?”

“To be with someone else?”

“Yes. Nelson's never going to leave Michelle, though I suppose _she_ might throw him out one day. And there have been others – lovely men in their own way, but...” She sighs. “I envy you, Ruth.”

“You do?! Why?”

“Because you're the only one standing in the way of the two of you being together. You could choose to get out of your own way any day, and he'll come running to your side. Hell, he'd probably scoop you up and tell you that he loves you, snog you senseless, and make love to you then and there.” Her cheeks colour. “Sorry. It's the wine.”

“I approve of wine,” she mirrors her own words back at her and they both smile.

“Nelson holds all the cards and I hate that.”

“Not all of them,” she points out. “You have Kate.”

“I do.”

They're silent for a few moments until Ruth says, “Want to talk about something else?”

“I'd love to.”

“Do you read?”

“All the time! Though mostly it's archaeology stuff, but I love a good novel.”

And so it is that they wile away another half hour or so until the wine's finished and they both choose to call it a night and make their way upstairs. Despite the wine and the lateness of the hour, however, sleep proves to be elusive as she lies in bed thinking of Harry, of the missed opportunities and all the tantalising possibilities lying ahead if only she had the courage to take them.

She hadn't been Ruth Evershed when she'd met George. She'd been Anna Ruth Simmons – a very sunny kind of person. And much as she's loath to admit it to herself, she'd enjoyed being Anna Ruth. She'd enjoyed being happy and optimistic. Anna Ruth wouldn't have had any problem being with Harry Pearce. She would have embraced it all – good and bad – and simply made the best of it.

She thinks about the years ahead, stretching out in lonely isolation, and she realises that she no longer wants that for herself. It's been so _nice_ tonight to connect with another person, to talk and just _be_ in the same space, to share a drink, breathe the same air, laugh and smile together. George is gone, Nico lost, and she's punished herself enough for the role she played in bringing it about. After all, it wasn't she who shot him. It wasn't Harry either. Harry did his level best to buy them all time and delay the inevitable. He doesn't deserve to suffer for it, and in keeping her distance, she _is_ making him suffer. She's punishing them both for all their failings, instead of rewarding them for all the good things they've done over the years. If she put it all in a spread sheet, she's sure that the good they've done outweighs the bad, in the end. She's sure that they're both in credit.

She turns over, punching the pillow and releasing a heartfelt sigh. Harry Pearce is responsible for more lost sleep than all the world's terrorists combined.

_Sometimes you need to give a man a chance, Ruth, to show you who he really is._

Perhaps she should just give him a chance simply so she can _finally_ get some sleep at night.


	6. Chapter 6

 

_Ruth Galloway_

 

“Thank you, Doctor Galloway, for all your help,” Harry Pearce says to her, shaking her hand rather formally. “Your contribution has been invaluable to finding these bastards.”

“I'm very glad I could help,” she replies, equally formally. She can't quite fathom what Ruth Evershed sees in this man. Then again, most people probably don't get what she sees in Nelson. Some days she doesn't understand it herself.

Harry Pearce, nods and turns, catching other Ruth's eye before quickly striding away.

“I'll take you back downstairs,” she says warmly.

“Is Harrold going to be there?” Kate asks.

“I'm afraid not, Kate,” Ruth Evershed replies, leaning down to address her. “He's at home right now, but, I'll tell you what, next time you come to London, I'm sure he'd be thrilled to have you visit him.”

“Can I?”

“Of course. You're his new best friend.”

Kate beams and looks up at her. “Can we come back soon, Mummy?”

“We'll see,” she replies, smiling at her daughter and giving Ruth a grateful look.

“Do we go through the woosh doors now?”

“That's right. We go through the woosh doors,” Ruth Evershed confirms.

“Hurray!”

And so they follow Kate to the pods – she thinks that's what Ruth calls them – and out the other side, where she has to distract her daughter, who of course wants to do it again.

“How are you getting home?” Ruth asks her as they ride the lift to the ground floor.

“Nelson insisted he pick us up.”

“That's kind of him.”

She hums, unsure if that's the adjective she'd use to describe Nelson's overbearing, overprotective manner, or the way he'd just told her, not asked, but _told_ her he would pick them up and take them home. Still. She's grateful she doesn't have to get the train back up to King's Lynn.

His black Mercedes is in front of the building, illegally parked, of course, and Nelson is arguing with someone from Thames House about it.

“There they are now,” she hears him tell the security guard.

“Hello, Mervin,” Ruth Evershed greets the guard, while Kate lets go of her hand and runs to her father, who smiles and scoops her up into his arms, causing her a pang of envy.

“Afternoon, Ms Evershed,” he replies, smiling at her.

“It's alright. They'll be fine here for a minute or two. DCI Nelson is with the police.”

“So he said,” Mervin mutters darkly and walks back up the steps to the building.

In the meantime, she's greeted Nelson and he her, his eyes lingering on her as if to ascertain if MI-5 have mistreated her or something.

“DCI Nelson,” Ruth Evershed continues, turning to face him. “I don't believe we've been introduced. Ruth Evershed.”

Nelson shifts Kate over to his left arm and shakes her hand and nods, but he doesn't say anything.

“Daddy, did you bring Bruno?”

“No, love,” he says. “He hates being in the car long, remember?”

“Ruth has a cat called Harold, but sometimes she calls him Harry, like you. I got to meet him and, when I come back to London, I can visit him again.”

“Is that so?” She can see Nelson reassessing Ruth Evershed as his dark eyes return to her face.

“Yes. Can we come back tomorrow?”

“There's school tomorrow, Kate,” Ruth reminds her daughter, then turns to Nelson. “Perhaps we should get going before the security guard decides to come out again.”

“Fine by me,” he agrees and turns to put Kate in her booster.

“Well,” she says, turning to face Ruth, “thanks for everything. It's been nice.”

Ruth smiles. “Yes.” Impulsively, she leans forward and embraces her quickly. “I meant what I said. I'd love to have you and Kate visit next time you're in London.”

She smiles, genuinely touched by this. “Thank you. I'd like that. So would Kate. I'll ring you.”

“Good. Yes. You have my number. Take care, Ruth. Keep in touch if...” but here, Ruth tails off.

“You too, Ruth. Thanks for everything and good luck with-”

“Ready to go?” Nelson interrupts, having closed the car door with Kate safely buckled in it.

She finds this extremely irritating, but chooses not to comment. “Bye, Ruth,” she says instead, ignoring him.

“Bye,” she replies, then turns to wave at Kate. “Bye, Kate.”

That's another reason she likes Ruth – she actually calls her daughter by the right name.

“Bye, bye,” Kate yells back and they can hear her clearly, even through the closed doors and windows.

Other Ruth smiles, then turns to Nelson. “Goodbye, DCI Nelson.”

“Goodbye,” he replies, shaking her proffered hand before turning to get the door for her.

She gets in and gets comfortable, buckling her seatbelt while Nelson makes his way round the car and slips into the driver's seat, starting the car and pulling out abruptly, barely giving her a chance to wave at Ruth Evershed once more before she disappears from view.

“I like Ruth,” Kate pipes up from the back of the car.

“I like her too,” she agrees with her daughter.

Nelson remains silent.

 


	7. Chapter 7

_Ruth Evershed_

 

She finds him on the roof, his forearms resting on the balustrade, pensively staring across the rooftops of his beloved London. She takes a moment to soak him in, to get in touch with the gratitude she feels, not only to have stopped another cell of ideological extremists today, but also gratitude that he's still here, standing on the wall, fighting the good fight, strong still and unbowed. Normally, she's so busy looking at all their mistakes, all the negative events, thoughts, words, actions, that she forgets to appreciate all the good things too. And there are many good things, most of them linked in some way to Harry.

“Are you going to come any closer, or do you plan to stand there all night?” he murmurs, just loud enough for his voice to carry over to where she stands.

She smiles, closing the distance between them until she comes to a stop beside him, closer than she normally would, causing him to turn his head to look at her.

“I feel like celebrating,” she says, watching him, taking in the lines of his dear face, the fatigue, written all over it. He's still strong and unbowed, but the years have taken their toll on him and he looks exhausted.

“What would you suggest?” His voice is steady, giving nothing away as he straightens up, moving his hands to the railing. He's not that tall a man, but he is substantially taller than her and she has to tilt her head back a little to see him. She could take a step back, but she's enjoying his proximity. It's stirring feelings, desires she has suppressed for far too long.

“A drink. Will you join me?”

His gaze registers his surprise, then he looks around as if searching for something.

“What?” she asks, frowning.

“Just checking Tariq isn't lurking nearby, ready to torpedo yet another opportunity.”

She laughs lightly at his joke. “Let's sneak out before he notices.”

“Good idea.” His eyes are twinkling at her, apparently pleased, but when they get back to the Grid, Tariq spies them and moves quickly towards them, making Harry all but groan and forcing her to stifle a giggle. “Can it keep until tomorrow?” he asks him before Tariq even has a chance to open his mouth.

“Err... Yeah. I guess it can.” It's probably the first time that Harry has ever asked him not to report something work related until the morning, probably the first time Tariq's seen Harry put something else ahead of work, probably the first time he's ever considered that _anyone_ in Section D would want to. Tariq himself certainly never does. He loves his work and it's his number one priority. “I'll... um... send it to you in an email?”

“Good plan.” Harry nods his approval, then says in a warmer tone, “Go home, Tariq. You did good work today. Get some rest.”

Tariq beams at his praise and agrees. “I will, Harry. Thanks,” before turning around and walking back in the direction he came from. Ruth's not at all sure he'll actually do it. He'll probably get lost in his work again and only leave here when he gets hungry or sleepy or both. Even then, she suspects Tariq doesn't eat very much at all and often ends up sleeping on the Grid.

“Quick,” Harry jokes. “Now's our chance.”

So they gather their things and make their way out of Thames House together. “Any preference for where we go?” he asks her as they stand outside on the pavement.

“I'm happy to go where you lead,” she replies, the double meaning of her words not lost on either of them if the long look he gives her is anything to go by.

They spend the next two hours, sitting in the corner of a cosy pub, drinking and eating, sharing pleasant conversation, reconnecting in a way they haven't managed since her return. Something about her evening with Ruth Galloway has shifted her perspective and she's suddenly ready to get out of her own way and allow things to unfold as they will between her and Harry.

“How was it, taking care of the Galloways?” he asks at some point. “Did they give you any trouble?”

“No,” she replies, smiling at the memory. “It was lovely. Kate is delightful and she adored my cat. We played some games, and after she went to bed, Ruth and I stayed up talking. It was a nice change of pace. I enjoyed it.”

“Good,” he says, but doesn't add anything more, perhaps unsure of his footing in a conversation that centres on a child. She knows her grief over losing Nico has made him cautious around the subject. Not that he wasn't already, really. Somehow children and Harry don't fit in the same sentence. Even before her exile, after their date when anything at all had seemed possible, she'd quickly dismissed any notion of having a child with him. Harry's already married to his job. To add a child to the mix would push any relationship they managed to forge to breaking point, she's sure.

“I admire her,” she confesses, “the way she's built her life around what she loves, lives where she wants, is raising her daughter alone, on her own terms. I wish I had that kind of courage.”

“You have courage in buckets, Ruth,” he responds, his voice low, full of something intangible.

“I feel like I'm just reacting to circumstances most of the time. It's not courage when your hand is forced.”

“Strength in the face of pain or grief,” he replies. “Look it up. That's the definition. You have more courage than most of the world put together.”

She nods silently, contemplating his words. “Maybe it's direction that I lack then. I don't seem to know where I'm going, Harry.”

He thinks about this for a long time before he responds. “I think that most peoples' lives look well orchestrated from the outside. Take my life, for instance. From the outside, I went to school, Oxford, Sandhurst, served for a year or so, moved to MI-5 as a junior officer in Northern Ireland, proved my mettle, spent some time with Six, came back, got promoted through the ranks, made Section Head at a reasonably young age and, fifty odd years later, here we are. Living my life, I can tell you that I planned very little of this. It was a question of choices. You make certain choices and those choices lead to other ones, and so on, and so forth. And one day you wake up and realise that, even if you had no idea where you were going, this is where you've ended up. And hopefully, you've learnt a thing or two along the way, hopefully, you've met the right people to share the journey with you.” He doesn't look at her as he says the last bit, staring down at his drink, then lifting his glass to take a sip of his whiskey instead.

 _So much wisdom._ She can't get over, sometimes, how very profound are some of the things Harry says and how he seems to know exactly what she needs to hear.

Of course, on other occasions he gets it completely wrong and-

But, no. She's not going to dwell on the mistakes any more. She's going to focus on the quiet moments of pleasure, of joy, of connection.

She reaches over slowly and gently rests her hand over his left one that's resting on the table, wrapping her fingers over the top of his index finger and giving it a gentle squeeze.

He looks up in surprise, so she smiles at him. “Thank you,” she says, simply, then takes her hand back to lift her glass and take a sip.

He nods, his gaze never leaving her, studying her face. “You're different tonight,” he murmurs.

She hums. “I've been thinking,” she replies, somewhat enigmatically.

He nods, lifting his glass again, but pausing with it in suspended in front of him, elbow on the table. “You're always thinking,” he points out gently, moving his glass towards her before taking a sip of his drink and returning it to the table.

Her smile broadens. “That's true. I've been thinking I've been unfair... to both of us.”

“Unfair.”

“Yes.”

He gives her a speculative look. “So now you're going to be... fair?”

She smiles. “That's the general idea.”

He hums. “And what does fair look like exactly?”

“I don't know yet. Mostly, focusing on the positive instead of giving all my attention to the negative. I've decided I should be grateful that I'm alive, that _you're_ alive, that we... have what we have.”

He nods, taking another sip of his drink, perhaps for courage. “And what exactly do we have, Ruth?”

It's her turn to drop her gaze to her drink and take a sip, searching for the right words to answer him. “A connection. Friendship, I hope,” she ventures eventually, scared to assume too much.

“I think we have a lot more than _that_ , Ruth,” he replies softly, and when she looks up, his eyes have softened, his gaze gentle and warm. “Just because you said no, it doesn't mean I've stopped wanting to marry you. And that is a hell of a lot more than friendship on my part.”

She looks away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and out of her depth. She hadn't expected things to escalate so quickly. “Harry,” she protests, fiddling with her glass, sliding her fingers up and down the pattern etched in the crystal.

He sighs and she sees him lift his right hand and rub his temples. “Sorry,” he apologises. “Too much. I'm not very good at this, am I?”

She smiles fondly at that, relaxing somewhat, her heart opening at this display of vulnerability. “It's alright, Harry,” she says. “I understand. It's hard for you to be patient.” She means it as an observation, not a criticism.

An incredulous sort of laugh escapes him. “Five years, Ruth,” he says, shaking his head as he stares at his glass. “You have _no_ idea,” he murmurs before taking a large gulp of whiskey, draining it.

“ _Five_?” she questions, a little thrown by the number.

“That's how long I've been in love with you.”

And there it is. Finally out in the open. Settling like heavy fog on the table between them, spilling over, surrounding them, insulating them, cocooning them from everyone else. His gaze is as open as she's ever seen it, his eyes a window into his soul, and she can't help how her own suddenly fill with tears.

She can't speak. She hadn't realised how _much_ she's longed to hear those words all these years. To know and to be told are such different things. If only he'd had the courage to tell her sooner, if only she'd had the courage to let him, if only... if only...

She releases her glass and leans forward, sliding her hands, palms up, towards him, and he doesn't hesitate to cover them and grasp them with his own. She squeezes them, clinging to him as she fights for control, taking deep breaths and blinking away her tears.

“I should have told you ages ago,” he murmurs softly, perhaps sensing the enormity of what's going on inside her. “I assumed you knew.”

She nods, drawing one hand out of his to wipe her cheeks. “I did. By the time I left, I knew. It's still important to hear it though.” She smiles and returns her hand to his.

He nods and gently squeezes her fingers, but when she says nothing more, he drops his gaze and it prods her into action.

“I love you too, you know,” she tells him.

He smiles and nods, his eyes sparkling with joy as he lifts them to look at her once more. “Good,” he says. “That's good. I'll be patient. I promise.”

She smiles. _How bloody typical._ Harry wants to be patient just when she's decided that she's done sitting on the fence and is ready to jump in with both feet.

“Thank you,” she says, squeezing his hands once more before pulling hers away. “It's getting late,” she murmurs, feeling suddenly tired. Anything more will have to wait until next time.

“I'll take you home,” he replies without hesitation.

“There's no need, Harry.”

“There's every need, Ruth,” he says firmly. “We may live in the twenty-first century, but that doesn't mean we should completely abandon all civility from the last one,” and she can't help smiling fondly at him.

“You'll never let me pay for a meal or a drink, will you?” she asks, mischief in her eyes.

He frowns. “Well, I earn more than you,” he points out, logically.

“Once you've retired then,” she suggests impishly.

He smiles. “I'm glad you're planning on still wanting to buy me drinks when I've retired, Ruth,” he says, making her blush. It's amazing how she hadn't seen that one coming.

“Well, I suppose I aught to do _something_ about my lack of direction in life.”

His smile broadens. “I don't know what you, Doctor Galloway, and her daughter did last night but, if this is the result, I vote she stays with you more often.”

She laughs. “Well, perhaps we can take a holiday sometime to Norfolk. Maybe you and DCI Nelson can even learn to be civil to each other.”

He frowns, pursing his lips most adorably as he gets up and she follows suit. “Bloody plods. Barging into Thames House like he owns the place,” he mutters to himself, causing her to laugh again and reach up to softly kiss his cheek.

“He was looking for his six-year-old daughter,” she tells him gently. “As I recall, you almost barged into an active operation to protect yours, Harry, and she was a lot older than six at the time. Perhaps we can forgive him taking such liberties under the circumstances?” She squeezes his forearm and smiles at him before turning and leading the way outside.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Apologies for the delay in posting this update. Sadly some interior decorating and DIY got in the way of my writing time. I'm happy to say that they are complete now, so expect quick updates again. I had hoped to finish this before Book 11 of Ruth Galloway comes out today, but I've failed. I guess reading that will be my reward for when this fic is finished! Thanks for reading and for all your reviews. Cheers, S.C.

_Ruth Galloway_

 

“I thought you'd like to know that I took your advice,” Ruth Evershed says into the phone after a momentary lull in the conversation.

It had been a pleasant surprise to answer it and hear her voice. She's been having one of those days where nothing goes according to plan, so to hear a friendly voice had been just what the doctor ordered and she's feeling a whole lot better now.

Ruth had began the conversation without a greeting, merely saying, “You didn't tell me you were a published author, Ruth!” the moment she'd picked up the phone with a tired hello.

It had taken her a moment to place her voice and teasingly reply, “I'm sorry. Who is this?”

“Oh gosh! Sorry. It's Ruth. Ruth Evershed. Hi! Sorry. How are you?”

She'd laughed at the flustered way in which it had been said, feeling her exhaustion drain away and her body begin to relax. Then she had assured her that she was fine and that she knew who it was really, was pleased she'd called, and asked her how she was too.

Ruth Evershed had quickly replied that she was fine before promptly moving onto discussing her book, which apparently she'd read in a day and had loved, and couldn't stop talking about how amazing it is that so much can be gleaned from a few very old bones. If she didn't know any better, she'd have thought Ruth Evershed had been converted to archaeology! Though, somehow, even with all her knowledge, thirst for learning, enthusiasm, innate patience, and being an extremely capable person, she doubts Ruth would take to the field. She'd hate the digs – hours outdoors, painstakingly removing layers of earth, cataloguing finds, the mud, the muck, the cold rain or scorching sunshine. Nevertheless, it had warmed her heart to hear her enthusiasm on the subject and she'd ended up inviting her to Norfolk to show her some of her finds, an invitation that Ruth had accepted with delight.

“Maybe I can convince Harry to come too,” she'd said. “He was a bit sceptical about your conclusions and how much information can really be deduced from bones that old.”

“He's read my book too?” she'd asked in bewilderment. People she meets outside her field so rarely do...

“No. I'm not sure he has the time. But I sometimes go into his office at the end of the day and we talk about things.”

“And he'll discuss an obscure archaeology book with you, without complaint?!” she'd asked rather incredulously.

“Yes. He'll talk about anything I want to, really,” Ruth had replied, pausing for a moment before adding, “I've never really considered how remarkable that is before.”

“Remarkable is right,” she'd agreed. “Most men I know will only talk about sport or whatever subject they know well and can show off about.”

But Ruth Evershed had clearly not wanted to talk about Harry Pearce because she'd changed the subject quite neatly then, asking, “How's Kate?” and so she'd not pressed her to reveal more and simply switched to talking about her daughter, a subject she loves as much as archaeology now.

And that is how they find themselves here, a good half hour after their conversation had began.

“What advice is that?” she asks, not really remembering offering her any.

“About getting out of my own way,” Ruth replies quietly. “Harry's coming round to dinner in a bit.”

“That's great,” she replies, pleased for her new friend.

“Yes. Yes, it is.” There's something in her voice.

“What? You're not pleased about it?”

“No, I am,” Ruth replies. “It's just... I'm nervous, I suppose. I'd forgotten what it's like – the waiting, the anticipation, the worry and anxiety over... everything.”

She smiles and sighs in sympathy. “Yes,” she says. “It's probably just the anticipation though. You'll be fine once he arrives.”

She hears Ruth exhale abruptly. “God, I hope so. Last time it only got worse.”

She doesn't say anything, not at all sure what to tell her, really. She's never felt that kind of anxiety with Nelson – the others don't count since she hadn't been in love with them. She wonders if she would, were Nelson single and available. Probably not, she concludes. Not at this point, at any rate. They have Kate after all.

“But it's different now,” Ruth Evershed says, almost as if giving herself a pep talk. “You're right. He's Harry and I... I'll just start talking about something interesting and relax and everything will be fine.”

“Not archaeology though. It tends to kill the mood in my experience.”

Ruth laughs and she smiles. “Good advise. I'll try to remember. Thanks.”

“Any time.”

“I'm glad we met, Ruth,” Ruth says after a short silence.

“Yes. Me too,” she whole heartily agrees.

“Listen, I'd better go and get ready. Thanks for listening to me and give a kiss to Kate from me.”

“Will do. Good luck tonight. I'll try not to be jealous.”

Ruth Evershed laughs. “Take care, Ruth.”

“You too. Bye now,” and with that, they each end the call. She smiles, thinking about Ruth Evershed, and really hopes that things work out for her and her Harry. She tries not to think of Nelson. It's a good job she's never called him anything but Nelson really, or every time Ruth talks about Harry Pearce, Nelson would fill her thoughts and he does enough of that already. She'll always call him Nelson, she suddenly decides, even if by some miracle Michelle does throw him out and things change between them.

It would be nice though, to have Ruth Evershed visit. Kate would love it too, after she got over her disappointment that she brought Harry Pearce with her instead of Harold, the cat. She could show them around, perhaps. Certainly, she could show them the local archaeological sites. Then again, if they visit Norfolk together, perhaps all they'll be interested in is strolling around hand in hand and the bed in their hotel room.

“Stop it,” she tells herself and gets up to refill her wine glass.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We've reached the end of another fic and this is a nice long chapter for it. I do plan to write an epilogue to tie it all together, but I'm also impatient to read Book 11 and I've resolved not to start it before I've finished this story, which means the epilogue will likely be short and written by tomorrow. Once again, thanks for all your encouraging words and support. I couldn't write without them and you. Cheers, S.C.

_Ruth Evershed_

 

“Dinner first, or shall we start with a drink?” she asks him after he's hung up his coat and she's deposited the take away containers he's brought on the kitchen counter.

“A drink sounds good, actually,” he confesses.

“Wine alright? We could open a bottle now and have the rest with dinner.”

“Sounds good.”

So once she's got the glasses sorted and Harry's opened the red wine he's brought with him, they make their way through to the living room and take a seat on her settee, turning towards each other to gently clink their glasses together.

“Cheers,” she says.

He smiles. “To us,” he replies.

They each take a sip and she hums in appreciation – it's good wine.

“I spoke to Ruth Galloway today.” She says the first thing that pops into her head, feeling a little nervous, if she's honest, to have him here. It's one thing to spontaneously go out for a drink, but totally different to ask him round to hers for dinner. Not that he's probably reading that much into that fact, after the way it came about – him asking her out and her agreeing but confessing she'd rather have dinner away from prying eyes, suggesting her place as a venue, offering to cook only to have him point out that she wouldn't have time on a Friday night and suggesting he bring something over.

Mind you, he's probably just as aware as she is that her bedroom is just upstairs.

_Is it too soon? Does Harry think it's too soon? Or is he more of the opinion that it really isn't soon enough?_

She hates this – how complicated their relationship is, how layered and confusing, and how much she over-thinks everything. With any other man, she'd have thought about it beforehand, yes, but in the end, she'd simply wait and see what she feels like doing as the evening progresses, but with Harry... She's just so _invested_ in getting things right, in everything working out, in them making it together, long-term. Now she's decided to give them a chance, she couldn't bear it if they fell apart. She's not sure her heart would ever recover.

“Did you? I didn't realise you planned to keep in touch.”

“Well, it's not everyday you meet someone you like. I've missed having friends since my return.” She takes another sip of her wine, silently kicking herself for mentioning her exile, however obliquely.

His eyes soften, filling with regret, but all he says is, “I'm glad. That you're friends, that is. She seems like a decent sort. Intelligent. Kind-hearted.”

“She is,” she agrees, relief coursing through her. “We had a lot to talk about, oddly enough. It was a good night, despite not having solved the bombing yet. Normally, I'd be going through everything obsessively in my head, left to my own devices.”

He hums in agreement. “Me too. It's why I stay on the Grid so late.”

“Same here.” She smiles at him, pleased to discover something more they have in common.

“Of course, I also stay to be near you.” His eyes take on a honeyed hue as he watches her, heat slowly infusing his gaze and making her heart begin to race.

Gradually, he leans in, giving her every opportunity to pull back, but before he's moved much closer, movement behind him, in the kitchen, catches her eye and she spies her cat on the kitchen counter.

“Harry, no!” she protests, causing Harry to freeze as she puts down her wine, springs from the sofa, and crosses the room quickly to the kitchen. “Stop that, you naughty cat! That food's not for you!” She scoops Harold off the kitchen counter and carries him back into the living room with her, taking a seat back on the sofa with the cat still in her arms, who is doing his level best to look pathetic and innocent. “You can look as innocent as you like – I know better. You were after the Beef Lo Mein, weren't you?” She cups his head in her hand and rubs behind his ears, and immediately he turns boneless, sinking onto her lap, purring.

“Sorry about that,” she tells Harry, lifting her eyes to look at him, feeling embarrassed and rather apprehensive, having ruined the moment between them. She'd wanted that kiss as much as he, but she knows that, on some level, she's still a little afraid of it also. “He almost got our dinner.”

He takes a sip of his wine, his eyes sparkling with a fond kind of amusement, apparently not at all worried or bothered by the interruption. “You've named your cat Harry,” he states.

She blushes, realising that the nickname had slipped out in spite of her intent to never use it in front of him. “It's Harold. He was called that when I adopted him, a few months ago, and I didn't think it fair to change it.”

“I'm sure I just heard you call him Harry though.” He's clearly not going to let this go and she feels herself getting flustered.

“Well, I only call him that when he's being really naughty,” she counters before she can stop herself.

Harry begins to laugh and she can't help relaxing and smiling fondly at his obvious amusement. It's going to be alright, she decides. Harry seems determined to enjoy himself tonight, no matter what happens or doesn't happen between them, and she feels reassured by this realisation and able to let go of some of the tension.

“Just rolls off the tongue effortlessly when you're annoyed, doesn't it, Ruth?” he says, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Now you mention it,” she responds, extremely gratified when he laughs again. “He's a good cat though. Aren't you, Harold?” she adds, turning her attention back to the cat. “He's not often naughty. Mind you, he's getting on a bit. He probably used to be much worse if now is anything to go by. There has to be something extremely tempting on the counter for him to put in the effort to get all the way up there now, but he was probably a nightmare in his youth – up to all kinds of mischief.”

She lifts her eyes back to Harry's only to find them twinkling at her with such devilry, that she can't help but clarify quickly, “I'm talking about the cat, Harry.”

He laughs that wonderful, wheezy laugh he has when he finds something really funny.

“No, no,” he chuckles. “If the shoe fits... That's a pretty accurate description of me.”

“Really? I wouldn't have thought anything would tempt you onto the kitchen counter,” she teases, delighting in this open and happy side of him that's on display this evening.

Her words, however, instantly transform his easy humour to something darker, roguish, his eyes taking on a dangerous glint as he leans towards her, gaze intense as he murmurs, “Now, _that,_ I'll grant you, Ruth. It wasn't usually me who ended up on the kitchen counter.”

She swallows, her face flushing, her whole body responding with heat as her gaze drops to his lips – so soft, so plump, so damnably kissable and wickedly tempting.

He waits, moving no closer, yet not pulling away – _Damn him!_ – so they remain suspended in the moment – silent, lingering, hoping, wanting.

“Ruth?” he murmurs, what feels like an eternity later.

“Yes?” she replies in a daze.

“Did you talk about me?”

She frowns, puzzled. “What?”

“You and Ruth Galloway. Did you talk about me?”

Her mind is still preoccupied with his lips, craving them against her own with ever mounting impatience, yet not quite daring to be the one to close the distance between them.

“Yes.”

He hums, leaning in a little more. “And what sage advice did she have to offer?”

She's still busy watching his lips, desperate to taste them. Will they be as sweet as she remembers? As soft? As tender? She wants that sweetness, that hope, without the bitterness of their impending parting. Not like last time. How can it be that she hasn't kissed them since, after all this time? How has she resisted?

“She said I should get out of my own way. That I should just let us... happen.”

She's only half paying attention to their conversation. Most of her mind is waiting for his kiss, yearning for it, imagining it in ever increasing detail.

He hums again and leans closer still. “Wise woman. And are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Going to get out of your own way and let this happen?”

“This?”

“Yes.”

“Kiss you, you mean?”

“ _All_ of this, Ruth,” he murmurs, leaning closer still, so close that his lips are no longer in focus and she has to look up into the mesmerising hazel of his eyes. She gets lost in there for long moments – the amber flecks, the green and misty charcoal. She never knew he had such beautiful eyes. She's never lingered close enough to study them before.

“I also call him Harry when he's affectionate and gentle like this,” she confesses softly, needing suddenly to explain. “He curls up on my lap when I watch the telly in the evening and I stroke him. Sometimes he purrs so loudly that I can hardly hear anything else. If I stop though, he lifts his little paws and wraps them round my wrist, pulling my hand against him and holding me there until I start stroking him again.”

He chuckles, still patiently waiting. It's amazing how he does that – accepts her, loves her no matter what she says or does, or how bonkers she must seem to him.

“I love you, Harry, I tell him. And that rolls off the tongue effortlessly too,” she whispers and closes the distance between them.

His lips are soft, welcoming, and when she kisses him again, then cups his cheeks, eagerly coming back for more, he exhales heavily as if he's been holding his breath in uncertain expectation. She hums in pleasure and kisses him harder, her thumbs stroking his smooth cheeks, fingers sliding into the soft wisps of hair around his ears.

He's perfect. So perfect.

She comes up for air, lifting her head a little to see his shining eyes, the soft smile gracing his lips.

“I don't purr,” he says as her thumbs continue to map his cheeks and she can't help the laugh that escapes her.

“Maybe not,” she responds, with more confidence than she expected, “but I'm sure there are other noises you make and I look forward to discovering every one of them.”

His eyes smoulder in an instant and he's back to kissing her, his lips more insistent, his hands reaching for her, running up her sides to her shoulder blades and pulling her closer. “Harry,” she gasps as his lips leave hers to trail hot kisses along her jaw to her ear, her insides melting, quivering with the rising need he's calling forth within her. Why the fuck has she resisted him for so long? _How_ in god's name has she managed it?

“Bet your cat never made you say it quite like that,” he teases, teeth nipping her earlobe.

The word cat bounces around her head, looking for something to connect with, but her mind is too distracted by what he's doing, her only thought to draw him closer, her hands slipping round his face, threading through his soft hair, pulling him and holding him against her.

It's the sound of the plastic bag rustling in the kitchen that triggers the connection and she opens her eyes, looking over his shoulder to where Harold is busy trying to get at their dinner again.

“Harold!” she protests, reluctantly pulling out of Harry's arms. “Stop being so _bloody_ naughty!”

Harry laughs, eyes dark with desire, yet shining with a wondrous joy too. “Perhaps we should eat it. The dinner, I mean,” he clarifies quickly. “We can continue this later.”

She nods, unable to muster an answer at the way he's looking at her, and takes his hand when he offers it, as he stands and pulls her to her feet, feeling rather relieved that her legs manage to hold her weight and carry her through to the kitchen.

“Stop it, Harry,” she tells him some time later as they sit at the table, sharing dinner, and this time she's actually addressing him and not her naughty cat.

“But he loves it,” he protests, glancing at her guiltily before looking back at Harold, who's polished up the bit of beef and is gazing back up at him, an imploring kind of look in his eyes.

“And it's bad for him,” she points out.

“It's meat.”

“With god knows what in the sauce.”

“You're eating it,” he points out.

“Yes, but I'm not a cat.” She's beginning to sound and feel exasperated.

In the mean time, Harold's got up and is busy rubbing himself against Harry's legs, alternating between purring and meowing pathetically, subjecting him to ever increasing doses of emotional blackmail.

“Stop it, Harold. Leave Harry alone.” She glares down at her cat and then back at Harry when another piece of meat hits the floor beside him. “Harry!”

“Sorry. He just looks so...”

“You're a bloody spook! You haven't caved under interrogation and torture, and you can't resist a cat?!”

“Not just any cat,” he murmurs, gaze warm and open as he looks at her.

“Oh, so it's because he's _my_ cat now?” she challenges, not believing a word of it. She's always known he has a soft heart, her Harry. It's one of the things she's always loved most about him, and it's proving rather difficult, right now, to stand firm and stay cross with him.

He smiles and takes a sip of his wine before returning his glass to the table. “Can you blame me?”

“Yes!”

“Well, then maybe you shouldn't have named him Harry,” he suggests, mischief in his eyes.

“Meow,” says Harold, rubbing his head against Harry's leg again.

“Oh now, that's quite enough of that,” she says, getting up and scooping up her cat, carrying him out of the kitchen to the sound of Harry's laughter.

“You're just jealous he likes me better now,” he calls out after her.

With Harold safely closed in another room, they resume their meal in silence. With her cat gone, the lightness and humour of the argument has gone and all that is left is the tension.

“I'm sorry,” he says eventually, reaching his hand, palm up, across the table towards her. “He's your pet and I should have respected your wishes. Forgive me?”

His eyes implore her, tugging at her heart, and though she's still feeling annoyed with him, she knows if she rejects his apology, it'll surely ruin this evening. Harry's not the type of man for whom apologies are easy and he will not be offering one again if she dismisses it now.

She sighs and puts down her fork, covering his hand with her own. “Alright,” she says, watching his face relax into a smile. “But don't do it again.”

“I won't,” he replies, squeezing her hand in reassurance.

They resume their meal, polishing off their plates, and by the time they're done, she's feeling fond of him again and looking forward to more kisses.

“Do you remember the exact moment then?” she asks him, thinking of the drink they'd shared at the beginning of the week and the moment he'd confessed his love for her.

“When what?” He's watching her, leaning against the back of his chair, his right hand cradling his glass, his left resting on the table.

“You said it's been five years. You sounded pretty certain about the time-frame.”

“The moment I fell in love with you?” His eyes soften, filling with love as he watches her nod and take another sip of her wine for courage.

“Not the exact moment. I remember the moment when I realised I _was_ in love, but I have no idea when it started. It was so gradual, so unexpected.”

“Unexpected?” she asks, curious.

“I thought I was past all that, and if I _had_ considered the possibility it would happen, I would never have guessed it would be you.”

“Not glamorous enough for you?” she jokes, taking a sip of her wine to mask how close to her deepest fears and insecurities they're steering and how afraid she is of his answer.

He shakes his head. “Too good. Too kind-hearted,” he murmurs, his soft smile telling her that maybe he's read her mind and her fears. “There's no nice way to say this, but all but one of my previous relationships were with... ambitious, ruthless women, women one could describe with a certain five letter word beginning with B.”

An image of Juliet Shaw fills her mind, but she pushes it aside quickly. “Who was the one who wasn't?”

“Jane. The mother of my children.”

She nods, thinking about this for long moments before she returns to her original question. “So when did you realise? That you loved me?”

“When we lost Danny,” he replies softly, his eyes filling with sorrow.

She nods, remembering that day, arriving at the mansion with Harry, stopping the stretcher as they brought Danny out, touching his cold face, Harry standing close beside her, her grief, the warmth of Harry's embrace as he held her while they wheeled Danny's lifeless body away. It had been the first time she'd ever found herself in his arms and it had felt so good, so safe, so warm and protected.

“I knew for sure when I thought you'd leave us, become the DG, and I wouldn't see you everyday, or at all, most likely,” she confesses.

He smiles.

“I made up a story once, about being your lover and pregnant with your child,” she says without thinking. “It was when you were in hospital, after Tom shot you, and I needed to warn you about the JIC closing down the Grid. I remember thinking about that later, after it was over, about what it might be like and feeling a bit surprised when I realised I wasn't averse to the idea.” She looks up at his face to find his gaze intense and wanting. “So, I guess I've thought you... attractive and very... shaggable almost from the start.”

He lifts his glass to his lips and downs the remaining liquid before leaning forward in his seat, forearms pressing against the edge of the table, hands clasped together. “I think I'd like to see proof of that, Ruth,” he murmurs. “What say you we retire to your sofa together?”

She swallows, grabbing her courage with both hands. “Wouldn't you rather go upstairs?”

If he's surprised, he doesn't show it. In fact, he doesn't miss a beat. “Would you _like_ me to come upstairs with you?”

“Well, I'd be a little disappointed if you came without me, Harry,” she says without thinking, realising what she's said a second too late, her eyes widening in horror as she clamps both hands over her mouth.

Harry bursts out laughing. He laughs so hard, in fact, that he's soon wiping moisture from the corner of his eyes.

“Oh Ruth,” he says, voice warm and joyful as he gets up and moves round the table, reaching for her hands and pulling her unceremoniously to her feet. “You are wonderful,” he murmurs into her hair as he wraps her in his arms, “and I love you so _very_ much. I'm so lost without you.” He presses his lips against the side of her head, his hand threading into her hair, drawing her closer, her heart bursting with happiness to hear him say such things.

“I'm here, Harry,” she replies, voice a little thick with emotion. “I want this to work as much as you do. I don't want to be without you either.”

He squeezes her against him. “I won't let you go again. This is our time, Ruth,” he whispers, kissing her temple, her cheek, as she turns her head towards him until their lips slot together, sealing their promise with a passionate kiss that says everything they've ever wanted to tell each other.

It doesn't matter, she realises, what happens tonight between them. It doesn't matter if they end up in her bed today or next week or next month even. What matters is the love and their willingness to give their all to make this work... and the passion they feel for each other isn't hurting either.

 


	10. Chapter 10

_Epilogue_

 

He groans in protest, pulling the covers higher over his naked body, his eyes remaining resolutely closed, and she can't help smiling fondly down at him. A month ago she'd never have guessed that Harry Pearce is even capable of having a lie-in, let alone one where he is actually sleeping. She always assumed he was a morning person, up at the crack of dawn, rain or shine, ready to face the enemy. Mind you, he'd loved her up so thoroughly before dawn this morning that, maybe, it's understandable for him to want and need a few more hours sleep.

“Sleep,” she tells him, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. “I won't be long. Ruth said she only has a little while before her seminar.”

He hums in acknowledgement, so she kisses his cheek again, just because she can, just because she wants to, and runs gentle fingers through his hair before she rises from the edge of the bed and crosses the room to the door. Once there, she pauses again, making sure she has her purse and room key before opening the door and turning to look at him again.

He has his eyes open now, his gaze lazy and warm. “Be careful,” he murmurs, voice low and unbelievably sexy.

“I will,” she replies, fighting the temptation to return to bed with him. “I'll bring you back a coffee.”

He smiles. “Ring me if you need me.”

“I always need you,” she tells him and cannot help releasing the door and quickly crossing the room to his side again, placing a searing kiss on his plump lips – well, more like five of them before she manages to pull away again. “I'm going to be late and she's going to think I'm late because you've been shagging me silly.”

He hums. “Stay then,” he says, his right hand sneaking out from under the covers to run up the inside of her thigh seductively.

She moans in protest and pulls back, taking his hand in hers to stop it exploring. “Later,” she says, kissing his fingertips and turning away, crossing the room again to the door. She opens it and turns to him again. “Sleep,” she tells him and blows him a kiss. “I'll be back later with coffee and a pastry.”

“I'll keep the bed warm for you,” he promises, sending her a smouldering look.

She smiles and slips out of their room, closing the door behind her, her mind full of Harry and how wonderful these last few weeks have been, how different he is away from work, how right he was to tell her to give him a change to show her who he really is. The answer is he's wonderful and she couldn't be happier to be sharing her life with him. In fact, she's been thinking lately of suggesting they move in together. She's beginning to hate the evenings she has to go home without him, and with the work they do, there are far too many of them for her liking.

 

 

She orders her coffee and a muffin, taking a seat at a table by the window. She doesn't know why she always orders a muffin. She always feels so guilty and embarrassed eating it.

She opens her bag, pulling out her notes for her seminar, reminding herself of all the points she has to cover today as she waits for Ruth Evershed to turn up. She's arrived a little earlier than they'd said, but she's soon so absorbed in her work that she's eaten half the muffin without even noticing and doesn't realise how late it's getting until a breathless Ruth makes an appearance at her table, gushing apologies.

“I'm so sorry, Ruth,” she says. “I was up really early, but then I got absorbed doing some research and didn't notice the time, and now I'm terribly late. Do we still have time? What time do you have to leave here?”

She glances at the clock on the wall above the counter. “I have fifteen minutes still,” she replies. “It's fine. Why don't you order while I gather and put this away?” she suggests, beginning to organise her papers. It never fails to amaze her how untidy they get when she's simply just looking through them.

“Okay. Sounds good,” Ruth agrees, smiling before turning away.

Soon they'd both sitting down, talking about the weather. It's a very important cultural ritual after all and she can't help wondering if the Iron Age skeletons she's uncovered in the past did the same thing.

“At least it's not raining,” she finds herself saying. “Norfolk's not at its best when its raining.”

“Places rarely are. I'm looking forward to seeing the saltmarsh this afternoon. You've told me so much about it,” Ruth replies warmly.

“Well, I hope it lives up to your expectations. Kate's very excited you're coming.” She smiles, remembering her daughter's babbling last night about all the things she wants to show Ruth.

“Where is she this morning?” Ruth asks.

“She's with friends. I'm sorry. I don't usually have seminars on a Saturday, but this group is preparing for a dig and I need to give them their instructions.”

“Of course. Don't worry about us. We'll find something to do, I'm sure,” Ruth replies, not quite meeting her eye and she's sure she can detect a faint blush colouring her cheeks.

“His name's Cathbad. My friend, I mean,” she says quickly to save them both from any awkwardness. “He's a scientist and a druid. You'll meet him tonight. He loves to light bonfires on the beach, so I'm sure he'll be there with his children, perhaps even his wife, Judy. She's a detective sergeant. She works with Nelson.”

“Will he be there too?”

“I've no idea,” she responds, feeling uncomfortable. Sometimes she regrets how much she tells people about her non-existent relationship with Nelson. In fact, she doesn't really tell many people. Cathbad seems to know intuitively, and everyone else in her life, never asks. It's only Ruth Evershed who's managed to gain her confidence in this department. It's strange really as she hardly knows her. Perhaps that had been the appeal – the anonymity of two intelligent, lonely women with man issues stuck together for the night. Only now they're building a friendship, she's not entirely sure how to deal with it.

“Sorry,” Ruth Evershed says kindly. “I don't mean to pry.”

“No, it's fine,” she's quick to reassure her. It's not fine, but it is what it is and no amount of wishing will change it. “I should get going.”

“Right. I'll see you later then?”

“Yes. Around two?”

“Sounds good.”

“Are you sure you'll be able to find it?”

“Harry's pretty confident we will.” Ruth Evershed smiles, then leans in conspiratorially. “I've got it all entered in the satnav, don't worry. Last thing we need is to get lost. Harry never asks for directions.”

She laughs and gets up, returning Ruth's quick embrace and watching as she turns for the door, only to do a quick about turn, saying, “Coffee. I promised him a coffee.”

She smiles, amused by her flustered, somewhat absent-minded behaviour, then gathers her things and makes her way outside to her car and the five minute drive to campus.

 

 

It's a chilly evening, now in mid-October, but the skies are clear and Cathbad has got his bonfire going. He's also remembered to bring along some mulled wine for those who are not driving and hot coffee for those needing to remain sober. Thankfully, she falls into the first category as Harry's driving and she's happily sipping it out of a plastic cup, feeling joyous, mellow, and relaxed.

“The children love it out here,” she comments, watching Kate run around the fire and little Miranda, Cathbad's daughter, toddling along behind her, trying to keep up.

Michael, Cathbad's son, is off to the side with Harry, of all people, watching him carve a piece of wood into something. For some odd reason, Harry's taken to the five-year-old, quiet child, and she's seeing a side of him she's never glimpsed before that is stirring all sorts of long set aside yearnings.

“He's very good with Michael,” Ruth Galloway comments, following her line of sight to the pair of them.

“Yes. He's normally hopeless with children.”

“He's an old soul, is Michael,” Cathbad says sagely. “Ah good. They're here,” he adds, looking past them, and when they turn, she sees DCI Nelson and a woman walking towards them. She's clearly not his pregnant wife, so she guesses this must be Cathbad's.

“Judy,” the woman says, shaking hands when she's introduced to her.

“Ruth,” she replies, smiling, but they don't have much of a chance to say anything more before Miranda, reaches her mother and gets scooped up for a proper greeting.

“Good to see you again, DCI Nelson,” she says instead, turning to the brooding policeman.

“And you,” he agrees and falls silent.

“Daddy!” Kate hurls herself at him and she watches with interest as his face softens at this welcome from his daughter.

“Hello, Katie.”

“Where's Bruno?”

“At home. I came straight from the police station.”

“Oh.” She sounds rather disappointed, but recovers quickly, clearly not one to dwell on setbacks long. She thinks that's quite admirable a trait and vows to practice it more herself.

In the meantime, it's revealed that what Harry has been so busily carving is a whistle and young Michael is delighted with it. He blows on it over and over again, showing off his prize to his mother and father.

“I want one,” Kate demands, wiggling in her father's arms until he puts her down. She rushes over to Harry, who is making his way towards them. “Can I have one too?” she asks. “Please,” she adds, as an afterthought.

“If you find me another piece of drift wood, I'll see what I can do,” Harry replies, smiling kindly down at her.

Kate immediately rushes off as Harry joins them. “Alright?” he asks, his warm hand resting against her lower back as he stops beside her. It never fails to amaze her how warm Harry's hands are no matter the weather.

“Wonderful,” she says, smiling up at him. It's so nice to have him be affectionate in public – he rarely does this in London. It's not over the top – it's not really in his nature – but it's nice to have him hold her hand or offer her a fleeting kiss, stand close to her or discretely wrap an arm around her. “You remember DCI Nelson, don't you?”

Harry nods and she's pleased when his expression remains neutral. “DCI Nelson,” he says, extending his hand and shaking the detective's. “Harry Pearce,” he offers, remembering perhaps that they haven't been introduced properly.

“Mr Pearce,” Nelson replies, aiming for a nonchalant tone.

“Harry,” Harry insists.

“Most people call me Nelson.”

They don't get much of a chance to start a conversation, however, as Kate comes rushing back with a piece of wood in each hand. “One is for Miranda,” she declares.

“That was very thoughtful of you, Kate,” she smiles, catching Ruth Galloway's eye who's looking rather proud.

“Right,” Harry says, crouching down beside her. “Let's see what you have here. This one will do quite nicely.” And with that, he reaches into his pocket for his penknife and begins working on the wood, but Kate doesn't have Michael's patience or interest and is soon chatting away about other things.

“It's my birthday soon,” she says.

“That's nice,” Ruth replies. “Are you doing something special?”

“I'm having a party,” Kate announces breezily, as Ruth Galloway's eyebrows rise in surprise.

“That sounds like fun.”

“You can come too. And Mister Harry.”

Harry smiles.

“Thank you, Kate,” she says.

“We can have it here and you can make whistles for all my friends.”

Harry chuckles.

“We'll see, Kate,” her mother intervenes quickly. “It'll be colder and wetter by the first of November.”

“Is her birthday the first of November?” she asks, surprised by the coincidence.

“Yes.”

“So is Harry's!”

“Quite the coincidence,” Cathbad agrees, materialising suddenly and promptly moving away again. “And there's Nelson. Scorpios abound this evening.”

Harry catches her eye and she has to quickly suppress a smile.

“Don't mind Cathbad,” Ruth Galloway advises.

“He's magic,” says Kate, sagely.

“Your birthday is in November too, I take it, DCI Nelson?” she says, turning to him and just catching the longing in his gaze as he looks at Ruth Galloway.

“It is,” he confirms, rather reluctantly.

“When's your birthday, Ruth?”

“June 24th. Yours?”

“April 29th.”

Harry tests out the whistle and Kate is delighted when it makes a sound. He hands it to her and she thanks him exuberantly, even going as far as to give him a quick hug. “Thanks, Mister Harry.”

“You're most welcome, Kate,” he replies, watching fondly as she skips away to show Michael.

“You're a great hit,” she tells him, turning to wrap her left arm around his waist and lean into him.

He smiles, slipping his arm around her shoulders and kissing her temple. “It's nice to have the opportunity,” he murmurs.

“Thank you, Harry,” Ruth Galloway says. “She loves it. Do you have children?”

He hesitates, so she squeezes his side. “Two from my first marriage,” he replies, rather reluctantly. “They left home a long time ago now.”

 _First Marriage_. She smiles, somehow exceedingly pleased to hear him refer to it as such. Is he thinking of their relationship as his second marriage then? Is he going to ask her? She knows they're both fully committed, and though they've been together just over a month, in their hearts, it's been a lot longer.

“Walk with me?” Harry suggests softly.

“I'd like that,” she replies. “We're just going to walk down the beach a little ways,” she says to the others, who nod and watch them walk away, his hand reaching for hers and clasping it tightly.

The stars are starting to come out now that the sun has set and she admires them as they stroll along, amazed by how many they can see away from the lights of London. They don't speak. There's no need. She feels perfectly in tune with Harry and, when it's time to turn back, they stop at the same time and turn to face each other.

“It's so beautiful here,” she says. It's almost fully dark now, the stars sparkling above them, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the peace of it all infusing her being.

“I love you, Ruth,” he replies, his warm palm rising to her cheek.

She meets his gaze and lifts her chin to meet his lips, warm and soft and tender.

“I love you too,” she tells him.

“Live with me.” His voice is earnest and low, his gaze intense even in the gathering darkness. “Marry me. Stay with me always.”

She smiles, fleetingly wondering if he'd planned this or, like her, had suddenly been struck by the idea just now or earlier today, after the wonderful day they've had together. This trip has certainly been rather magical for them and, away from London and their jobs, they've had a glimpse of what life could be like for them once Harry's retired.

“Yes,” she tells him. “Of course, I will. Yes to all of that, Harry.”

He smiles and wraps his arms around her, exuberantly lifting her up and spinning her in a circle.

She shrieks a little in surprise and laughs as he puts her down again, both of them breathless even before they seal their promise with a kiss that's obscenely passionate and lustful.

 

 

“Are they alright, do you think?” Nelson asks, nodding in the direction from which the shriek had come from.

“I'm sure they're fine, Nelson,” she replies, surprised to hear he's worried about them. “They're spies,” she adds in a whisper. “They're far better equipped for dealing with danger that we are.”

Nelson grunts. “I don't know about that. He must be pushing sixty and Ruth.. Let's just say I'd have more faith in Judy's abilities than hers.”

“Don't begrudge them their happiness, Nelson,” she tells him and walks over to Judy who's watching Miranda and Kate. She's been trying to avoid Nelson and keep interactions to a minimum lately. It isn't healthy to dwell on what can never be, or how close she came to having what she wanted.

Behind her, Nelson objects, “I just don't want to be fishing any bodies out of the water later.”

“I'm sure it won't come to that, Nelson,” Cathbad says. “They have happy news to share when they rejoin us.”


End file.
